


Bridget's diary

by FakeCirilla9



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Crack, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Infidelity, Nazis, Older Man/Younger Woman, Out of Character, Power Imbalance, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: Some excerpts from the diary of Bridget, the housekeeper of the Smiths family
Relationships: John Smith/Bridget
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Bridget's diary

**Author's Note:**

> As to eventual spoilers: the action is set somewhere between season 3 and 4. It contains some spoilers to the first ep of the fourth season and maybe some insignificant sentence said by Bridget later. And some vague political movements of the Japan Empire are also mentioned.
> 
> Warnings:  
> 1\. This is a silly cracky comedy  
> 2\. Bridget is most probably OOC. I'm also pretty sure she might be off with Helen at the time frame of this fic.  
> 3\. TBH the whole fic is basically self-insert, only pretending to be something more

“John, I'm worried about you.”

More like happy to see me tumble, John corrected his interlocutor in his thoughts.

“Thank you, Hoover, your concern is appreciated,” he said aloud. “Though maybe not necessary.”

“Is it not? Your wife is absent.”

John looked at him closely.

“She's helping her brother recover.”

“Oh, yes. What has he done? Broken leg? You are very generous to lend your wife like that to another relative. You ought to be the most important man in her life.”

“Are you worried about my marriage?” the incredulity in his tone was not fully drowned by a professional disinterest.

“About yourself, I told you.”

John looked at him quizzically.

“You live away from Helen, yet I didn't see you in a gentlemen club or inviting someone over.”

John barely held back the smile that threatened to lift the corners of his lips. Hoover taunted his manhood! And here he feared he knew something about Helen and the girls he wasn't supposed to know.

“I didn't think it proper to show in a uniform in, as you put it, gentlemen clubs.”

“God forbid! But who says you shall wear the uniform there?”

“The Reichmarshall is always on duty.”

“Ah. But I think the solution I found for you may help you with the issue without tainting the honor of the Reich uniform.”

Hm, solving my problems without my leave. Someone's getting too bold for his own good.

“And that is?” John asked levelly.

“A handmaiden!”

Did he want to spy on him? Did he think him that stupid to confide in some silly, pretty girl forced into his bed? John almost felt offended.

“All right, send her over.”

“I knew you would see your benefit in my proposition,” brightened up Hoover.

John grew more and more irritated by his attitude.

“I've found you a pretty one and young. Not redhead, but really pretty.”

So you even already decided for me.

“Right. Now if you will excuse I have some matters to take care of. Pressing,” John added the last word when Hoover still hovered there.

***

Bridget didn’t have specific plans for her future. She chose the American faculty of Reichsbräuteschule, the Magda Goebbels Institute, mostly because they didn’t teach boring classes like math or physics. Finding herself some prominent Nazi officer for a husband didn’t sound bad, but it wasn’t necessarily her priority.

So when the fat older man, whom the headmistress presented as the patron of the school, appeared and proposed an easy, well-paid job of a housekeeper, she applied. The creepy man looked at them like he was sorting items in the shop. He didn’t do anything more than leering, however. Bridget hoped that what she signed up for also didn’t include anything more. But even if, her natural optimism soon provided, it wouldn’t be such a tragedy. There were bright sides too.

If the owner of the house will be too brazen, chances were he would also be young and wearing the uniform and it won’t be hard to stretch the imagination and see him as pretty then. And if he’s old and creepy, he would most probably be unable to do anything more than grope here and there.

It improved when she found out it would be John Smith. Even as someone that uninterested in politics as she was, she was familiar with Reichmarshall’s pictures. Oh, if he was _that_ handsome… Who better to have your first time with.

It improved even more when she met him in person. Pictures didn't do him justice. (Neither the halting blurred movies). But about that I will write some other time, my dear diary.

***

The BCR was getting more daring across their border. It was all the Japs’ fault, because they were too lenient. The Empire of the Rising Sun was crumbling under its own weight. They would soon move out of America, it was only a matter of time. But they would leave chaos in their wake. The Negros got out of hand and it will fell to John to calm the situation.

John was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice warning sings. He detected the intruder only when he entered the penthouse and heard the noise from the kitchen.

John took out his gun but reconsidered and tucked it in the holster again. Shots would only make the escort rush in and from the sounds it was just one person and very incautious one. He could deal with it silently by himself.

He grabbed the intruder with a practiced motion whirling them around, one hand clasping mouth shut, the other squeezing the neck.

“What-” are you doing here, was supposed to be the question, but he noticed belatedly a handmaiden’s dress.

He let go of the girl.

She stumbled backward and turned to him with wide eyes, massaging her neck.

“I-” she croaked.

“You are my new handmaiden, I suppose.”

She nodded, still looking at him like a frightened hare during a hunt.

“I'm sorry I startled you.” That was an euphemism perhaps. The shade of his fingers started to show on her neck. “But I don't like when someone appears in my house uninvited.”

“I… I'm sorry. I thought- Mr. Hoover told me to come here and- I should have waited outside, I'm sorry.”

“Did he give you codes to enter?”

She nodded.

Hoover did know too much and was using his knowledge too freely.

Something sizzled in the oven and smelled of burnt flesh.

“Oh no!” the girl exclaimed, turning to the blackened meat.

***

My dear diary, that first day was a catastrophe. Well, the employer was handsome. More so than the pictures suggested. Pictures could be retouched for propaganda purposes. And the uniform and the angle could have lion’s share in that. Or so she had thought.

Seeing him in person truly showed the difference between the images and the reality. Only they were not retouched. If anything, they didn't do justice to her new employer.

And he didn't kick her out yet. So perhaps it could have gone worse than the burnt dinner.

***

At the dinner she was timid and scared he will kick her out, because on the first day she managed to anger him, then burn his meal. And now the supper presented itself very meager, consisting of sliced bread with butter, ham and tomatoes.

“I am sorry, I was preparing a pot roast-”

“Only to stand there as you do now? I don't think I could eat the whole of it ...by myself.”

Was that the order to leave? The invitation to sit down?

He reached for the wine and she jumped at the sudden movement. Hoover chose his little spy really poorly. Or she didn't know her role assigned by the fat jerk.

He poured some wine to one glass and slid it to her.

“Help yourself. Maybe you will stop quivering every time I raise my hand.”

Should loosen her tongue.

“I'm sorry. I- It's just-” she stumbled in a halting explanation and finally just put the cup to her lips to escape his searching gaze for a moment.

“So,” he attacked once more as she drained the glass, “it was Hoover who recommended you.”

“Yes, my... Sir.”

He looked on. Expectantly. His gaze was a heavy weigh on her shoulders that bore her to the ground, made her knees go weak. Did he want her to continue?

“He came to the school and the headmistress offered us that contest and I applied.”

“You yourself?”

“Em, yes...sir.”

So maybe after all she was just as innocent and stupid as she seemed to be.

“But there were a few of us and Mr. Hoover chose at the end. And he chose me.”

Or maybe not.

“You have any idea why?”

She looked at him incomprehensibly.

“Your degrees had to be good so you outstood the rest?” John provided, taking a little pity on her.

“I- well, they weren't bad. You wish to see my diploma, sir?” She should have taken it with her, stupid. “I have recommendation from Mrs. Green.”

“You worked for her before? Not straight from the school after all?”

“Oh, no she's one of the teachers. She prepared us for kitchen stuff.”

“She’s the one that taught you to overcook meat then.”

The girl went red.

“I'm sorry, sir, it will not happen again. I was-”

John was more amused than he probably should by the little toy Hoover equipped him with. He waited for how the girl will talk her way out.

“-I was surprised to see you there. I thought you-” What, make some sound as you walk? Call out to a guest like a normal person would do before attacking? “-you would be longer at work, sir.” The girl managed not that bad.

“Perhaps you could make some cold dishes for now. Less sumptuous... It's not like I have the whole family here to feed,” John said, bitter despite of himself. She looked up at him, so he snapped and send her off, angry.

***

Okay, her new employee did not leer at her. He did stalk and could scare witless, but he did not leer. He made some jokes at her expense, seemed to amuse himself with her occasional clumsiness, but that was it.

Her father could make similarly non-ambiguous remarks.

Which was starting to bother her if she was honest with herself.

She spied through the window and sometimes someone rode up with him, but they didn't- they couldn't compete with him. They might be closer her age, but they were all so terribly plain and boring and all the same in comparison to John Smith. In comparison to him everything else was becoming tedious. 

He was so handsome. Okay, she knew that much at the distance of the media, but from a close up it was incomparable. It was breath stilling level of handsomeness. She was awe-struck every time seeing him. Everything, every line about him was dark, sharp and dangerous. His high cheekbones. His raven black hair. His manner when he may not speak a word yet be utterly terrifying. And the black uniform underlined it even more.

Bridget did not care much for politics. But if looks alone were to be the main decisive factor, he well deserved to be their leader. He could lead the whole world with that charisma.

And sweep any girl off her feet.

Sometimes she remembered he had a wife. There were pictures of her and the children everywhere, he still wore his wedding ring. But they were just as distant as the photos of the son the broadcast news said was gone.

Here and now were only he and her. And it was perfect. Well, it would be. If he paid her any more attention than he was doing to the furniture.

She folded his clothes, silently smelling it before putting to wash. She dried the shirts, wordlessly wishing for more. She ironed the chemises, doing his wife’s job and wished she could take her place at other things too. She made his bed and laid down, imagining how it would be if he rested next to her and touched her, their bodies entangled on the soft mattress…

“Bridget. Bridget, you hear me? Wake up!”

“Oh, John,” she traced the last bits of a dream before someone would wrung her from sleep and tell her to go to the classes.

“I was under the impression we didn't switch to first names.”

The voice, the words were like a cold shower. Bridget sat up suddenly, bumping into him.

“I'm sorry,” she sputtered.

“I wonder if keeping you as a house helper makes my life easier or rather harder,” John said, massaging a place beneath his eye where she accidentally hit him.

“Where am I?”

“In my bedroom.”

“What I'm doing here?” She blinked, confused what was dreamed and what was real.

“That's what I meant to ask you. Is the bed in the servant room that uncomfortable? Send a request to my secretary and they should be able to do something about it.”

“No, it's-”

“Yes? Did you come to sleep here on purpose?”

“I was just taking a break from cleaning the house and...” she stopped. “What if I did?” She whispered.

John looked at her strangely. He was hardly a Prince Charming from a fairy tale. He would make an excellent role of the main villain though. Schwarzcharakter as they said in Reich.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, so she leaned forward and wanted to kiss him, but he moved aside. In the commotion a picture fell down and she felt her stomach tie into a knot as he reached for the wedding photo.

“Oh no, please I'll sweep it…”

“Don't touch it.”

“But-”

“Don't,” he snapped. Then added, gentler but coldly, “leave.”

***

That's it, my dear diary. I'm sure that was the final straw. Now he will surely kick me out. Trying to seduce him in his wedding bed AND destroying his and his wife's pic at the same time. My days as Smiths' handmaiden are counted.

***

Bridget left her diary as she heard a hiss from the bathroom and rushed there to help him bandage his hand. He should pick up the glass mess from the picture more carefully. Bridget wisely kept that thought to herself, aloud commenting only:

“Mom always said you only need to kiss the wound so it stops hurting.”

John was silent for a moment long enough that Bridget had a time to berate herself for choosing such a topic.

“Well,” John finally spoke, “try it then.”

If she was surprised by his demand, she hid it quickly and leaned down. She knelt before him in the bathroom, her moist breath heated his skin, then lips brushed it.

The photo laid guiltily turned on the back up in the other room.

And John took her by the scruff of her neck, and she went up after his hand docilely.

“I think it's working,” he murmured against her face and kissed her mouth.

***

My dear diary, I am a terrible home wrecking servant, but I have never been so happy before. I think I'm in love.


End file.
